


wrapped around his finger

by mushroomcow69



Series: t's dnf [7]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Biting, Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Boys Kissing, Caught, Dry Humping, First Kiss, Flustered GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Friends to Lovers, Grinding, I hate it here, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Sloppy Makeouts, Smut, Surprise Kissing, Third Wheel Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), ew i hate how that looks, i guess, i was dared ok, im never doing this shit again, lol they get caught, not full out smut tho, really just a very heated makeout, what is this democracy no this is hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomcow69/pseuds/mushroomcow69
Summary: George loves to tease Dream, and it does not go well for him. Or goes very well, depending on how you look at it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: t's dnf [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094696
Comments: 44
Kudos: 707
Collections: MCYT





	wrapped around his finger

**Author's Note:**

> i was dared to try and write smut i hate it here this is viscerally painful to post get it out get it out of my sight i want to be done with this goddamn piece of writing 
> 
> no i didnt make sapnap catch them so i could be done with this and go to bed what are u talking about
> 
> also this is very bad and also not proofread i just want it gone its taken far too long to bring myself to put the words on the paper ive come to the executive decision that im done now
> 
> (hi guys<3)

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” 

George smirks, and dream watches the way the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Like what?”

“Like _that_ ,” Dream exasperates, “like you wanna fight me or something!”

George snorts, “Maybe I do.” His fingers, previously running small circles in Dream’s shoulder, slow to a stop. He punctuates his sentence with a light tap on the fabric of the blonde’s sweater. 

“Oh yeah?” Dream retorts, and George doesn’t even need to look at him to see his eyebrows raise. 

George shrugs almost imperceptibly, resuming his mindless patterns. His fingers melt Dream’s skin through the fabric, leaving lowered tracks in their wake. Static trails the paths, as if wrapped around George’s finger. For a second, Dream envies them, for a second he wants to be confined to follow George’s searing touches, wants to feel the skin of his pointer finger, let it burn through him, ravel around it and let it carry him.

“I’d win.”

The fog in front of Dream’s eyes shatters, and he tilts his head at the unprecedented declaration. 

“Huh?”

“If we fought,” George murmurs, “I’d win.”

A familiar feeling falls gently over Dream, bubbling dangerously in the bottom of his stomach. 

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

The bubbles rise, burning his chest. With a surrendered sigh, he indulges them. 

“You would not,” he huffs, voice carefully controlled as he forcefully reels in the now awakened side of him. 

To Dream’s surprise, the energy beside him shifts slightly, the same playful air that falls over the discord calls when George starts to plan some mischievous prank.

Before Dream can question it, the tantalizing fingers had left his arm, the blonde suppressing a shiver at the chill craters they left behind. Before he had time to mourn the loss of the touch he was so unnecessarily attached to, or do something stupid, like grab George’s hand just to feel the sparks, something is blocking his vision as the mattress shifts underneath him. 

He takes a second to readjust himself to his surroundings before realizing, all too slowly, that there is someone on top of him. There’s a warmth radiating into his chest, and he instinctively looks up, meeting deviously shimmering dark brown eyes. 

“See,” George hums, almost comically ignorant to the connotations of his actions, “I’d win!”

Dream takes a shaky deep breath, feeling the warm bubbles begin to shift into a bloodthirsty dragon. He knows what this is, he knows this feeling. His eyes burn, his head sways foggily, and every thought is a quip he has to physically restrain himself from spitting out. Put bluntly, George had unknowingly activated a side of Dream that had only ever been seen by a very specific cluster of people, in humid rooms and under silk bed sheets. 

Clay’s vision cloud over, brown eyes expanding into a dark tunnel of flickering blue flames and television static. He feels a confined heat press against his cheek, making sweat bead on the ridge of his top lip. He feels the flames tease him, air bending under their will, warmth closing in on him like a rattlesnake.

It’s baffling that George still manages to be ignorant to what he’s doing, still manages to smile innocently as if Dream isn’t desperately trying to maintain his composure right below him. 

Clay glances upwards to meet George’s eyes again, swallowing a double take at the look in the brunette’s eyes, one he’d never seen, an unmistakable knowing glint, almost a dare. He’s doing it on purpose.

George shifts suddenly, hands clasping around Dream’s wrists, pulling them above his head and shoving them into the mattress, a smug smile canvassing his face. 

And that’s it for Dream. 

His facade splits open with a crack, the now fully fledged dragon rising from its ashes. 

Feeling flames shoot up his spine at _finally_ letting the heat have its way, he’s blindly flipping the smaller boy, landing on top of him with an iron-clad grip on his wrists, shoved into the top of the mattress the way George had dared to hold his. 

George gasps sharply, face flushed with shock as he slowly looks up to meet the blonde’s eyes. 

“Still think you’d win?” Clay keens, voice gone unusually low, a growl that might shatter if the air shifts too suddenly. 

George’s breath sits stagnant in the back of his throat, cheeks red, mouth hanging open, but Clay’s looking at him like he expects an answer, practically daring him to see what happens if he doesn’t give one. 

He manages to gather enough breath for a nervous giggle, forcing the noise past his still frozen vocal chords, his body not yet up to speed. Clay cocks an eyebrow at the sad attempt at composure, George still embarrassingly speechless below him. His eyes flicker pointedly down to the smaller’s lips and whatever was left of George’s breath catches in his throat. 

Clay smirks, looks back up to his eyes, and… 

And rolls off of him, sitting up with an innocent chuckle. 

_ What the fuck? _

George is frozen, still laying on his back, eyes blank. Clay looks down at him and furrows his brows as if to ask why he’s being so _weird_. He stutters to catch up, finally sitting up with a winded sweep through his disheveled hair. 

Clay just goes back to how they were sitting before, pulling the computer back onto his lap and coyly resuming their youtube video. George sighs deeply, swimming neck-deep in confusion and arousal, and pretends to watch along.

Dream, the bastard that he is, lets the entire mundane, minecraft video play, barely containing an evil smirk. He can feel George quivering beside him, can hear his poorly hidden heavy breaths. 

He’s driving him insane.

He’d like to think it’s out of mercy and not out of his own quickly waning patience that Clay finally closes the laptop, letting the room sit in silence for a second before, painfully slowly, turning to face George. 

His eyes are on fire. 

His lips are parted, face still flushed and eyebrows raised.

Clay kisses him. 

Their lips meet almost aggressively, and in a feverish unspoken agreement, George is lowering onto his back and Clay is gripping his hips. 

George settles against the pillows, and they kiss again, lips moving in tandem, heads jutting out to meet them whenever someone starts to pull away.

"This okay?" Clay whispers breathlessly.

George just nods, unable to justify pulling away, his hands flying to grab something, anything, and finding solace in blonde locks, gripping tighter than he means to. 

This earns a sharp inhale from the boy above him, who immediately pulls back, eyes alight, not hesitating before pouncing on George’s neck, who gasps as lips meet his tender skin. Clay immediately gets to work, as though George is a project he’s surveying, sucking the skin under his jaw with surprising expertise. George briefly realizes that he _really_ has no idea what his best friend has been doing in his free time, the thought pushed from his head as lips latch onto his collarbone, earning a sharp intake of breath. The gasp does not go ignored by Clay, who smirks against George’s neck before savagely digging his teeth into the overly sensitive patch of skin. 

And before George can help it, a moan escapes from his throat, breathy and quiet but _not_ unnoticed. The mere sounds strips away the last layer of Dream’s composure, who growls lowly before crashing into the other’s lips. This kiss is different, aggressive and blinding, and George immediately lets Clay take the lead (not as if he had a choice in the matter). Dream has a newfound fervor, placed firmly in his gut the second that sound escaped George’s mouth. He moves his head quicker, his tongue slipping into the other’s mouth, an almost inaudible groan escaping from both boy’s lips as their tongues meet with just as much pure, unbridled aggression as their lips. They continue like this, somehow growing more passionate with every kiss, movements feverish and forceful, as if their bodies are two magnets finally flying into each other. 

When Dream briefly pulls away, George realizes that his lips have gone _numb_ , and his heart stutters at the thought. Clay leans to the side of George, impressively yanking off his shirt without leaving his position over the smaller boy. George’s eyes fly to Dream’s, to his _best friend’s_ chest. Granted, his _unbelievably_ hot best friend. 

“Acrobatics,” George breathes into the thickened air. 

“I know right,” Clay huffs before reconnecting their lips with, _somehow_ , more fervor than before. They’re immediately back in it, bodies moving in perfect sync, heavy breaths ghosting against their eyelashes. Before he can think about it, George is instinctively bucking his hips upwards. Clay gasps sharply, hands flying to grip the smaller’s hips, shoving them roughly into the bed as if to chastise him for moving _without permission_. 

George realizes that he may have awakened some form of anger in Dream as the aforementioned shoves his leg in between George’s knee, pressing down on his crotch, drawing a breathy gasp. George can’t tell if he’s scared, turned on, or both. The knee presses down again, and he decides on both. 

George’s knees fly off the mattress, legs sitting bent on either side of Clay, and he physically cannot stop himself from bucking his hips again. Luckily, this time Clay doesn’t seem to mind too much, grinding his knee back down in response. Soon they’ve fallen into a rhythm; Clay grinding his knee into George’s crotch, the smaller responding with a push of _his_ knee, brushing across the front of the taller’s jeans, earning intermittent groans that make his stomach flutter. 

They’re gradually speeding up, movements growing rougher, kisses sloppier, before the door is unmistakably creaking open, and they’re flying away from each other like they’ve been physically repelled. Clay lands on his feet across the carpet, George curled into the corner of the bed. They look at each other, eyes wide with shared fear, and Clay can’t help but internally beam at how _ruined_ George looks, his face red, hair a mess, purple marks canvassing his neck. His chest is heaving too, but it’s probably a safe assumption to make that both of their chests are heaving right now. 

Slower than they probably should, considering the gravity of the situation, they look to the door in tandem, meeting a speechless Sapnap and a disregarded smoothie, dropped to the floor and spilling onto the hardwood hallway. 

“ _What the fuck_?” 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twt @mushroomcow69 if u want:))
> 
> this is the most difficult thing ive ever written. i swear to god this has taken me all day. get it out of my sight i want it gone
> 
> please comment that is the only thing that will make this worth it jesus christ (also comments literally make my entire fucking day and motivate me to keep writing so thank u guys<3)
> 
> wait till yall find out that this is literally just based off of a scenerio from my real life but with dream and george instead..


End file.
